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LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


Poets  sing  of  life  at  the  lees 

In  tender  verses  and  delicate: 
Of  tears  and  manifold  agonies  — 

Little  they  know  of  what  they  prate. 
Out  of  this  silence,  passionate 

Sounds  a  deeper,  a  wilder  chord. 
If  a  song  be  heard  through  the  close-barred  gate. 

Have  pity  on  these  my  comrades,  Lord ! 

HARD  LABOR. 


By  X107 


BOSTON 
HALL'S  BOOK  SHOP 

1916 


COPYRIGHT  1916,  BY 
LORIN  P.  DELAND 


To 

A.  H. 

in  recognition. 


359882 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Foreword •     .  9 


IN  PRISON: 

AN  EVENING  PRAYER 13 

THE  DREAM 15 

CONSOLATION 17 

THE  CONTRAST 20 

THE  DEVIL'S  OWN  TIME 22 

THE  WORD  FOR  THE  DEED      ....  24 

POSTPONED 25 

ROMANCE  AND  REALITY 26 

CONSCIENCE 27 

TO   YOU,    PlERETTE 30 

To  MY  FRIEND 31 

You  AND  I 32 

APRIL  WEATHER 34 

THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 35 

LEST  I  FALL 36 

To  MY  MOTHER  .     .  37 


ON  PAROLE: 

SPRING  IN  THE  CITY 41 

THE  Two  LOVES 43 

FORGIVE 44 

MY  SONG 45 

IF  SUCH  LOVE  CAME 46 

LOVE'S  TOKEN 47 

WHY? 48 

FREEDOM  : 

LETTERS 51 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FUSE  65 


FOREWORD 


FOREWORD 

These  verses  are  the  cry  of  a  soul  jailed  in  its 
body. 

The  Body,  X107,  knew  the  barred  door,  the 
prison  dress,  the  physical  humiliations  of  the  cell, 
the  rage  against  a  society  forced  thus  to  protect 
itself. 

But  the  Soul,  looking  through  the  eyes  of  its 
jailer,  the  Body,  saw  the  stars;  it  felt  the  winds 
blowing  over  fields  of  blossoming  grass;  it  heard 
the  lap  of  moon-led  waters,  and  the  laughter  of 
little  children. 

Which  was  the  real  woman  —  the  Body  or  the 
Soul;  the  Body,  which  found  its  level  in  the  gutter, 
or  the  Soul,  rejoicing  in  beauty  and  goodness? 
Who  can  say! 

But  there  is  one  thing  we  can  say, —  we  who  feel 
the  tragic  contradiction  of  the  singer  and  her  song. 
We  can  confess  that  our  way  of  punishing  the  body 


may,  and  often  does,  destroy  the  soul.  In  this 
little  book  the  soul  of  XI 07,  in  spite  of  us  and  our 
blunders  and  cruelties,  is  yet  alive,  and  sings. 

These  verses  are  published  as  they  were  written, 
without  any  attempt  at  editing.  The  brief  extracts 
from  letters,  chosen  at  random,  are  included  with 
the  consent  of  the  author.  They  give  a  glimpse  of 
later  life  and  personality. 

LORIN  F.  DELAND. 


IN  PRISON 


These  are  pawns  that  the  hand  of  Fate 
Careless  sweeps  from  the  checkerboard. 

Thou  that  know'st  if  the  game  be  straight, 
Have  pity  on  these  my  comrades,  Lord! 

HARD  LABOR. 


AN  EVENING  PRAYER 

DEAR  God,  another  day  is  done, 
And  I  have  seen  the  golden  sun 
Swing  in  the  arch  from  east  to  west, 
And  sink  behind  the  pines  to  rest. 
Now  night  comes  creeping,  velvet-shod, 
And  I  would  give  Thee  thanks,  dear  God. 
That  Thou  hast  been  with  me  today, 
And  helped  me  o'er  the  stony  way. 
I  thank  Thee  that  Thou  gavest  me 
The  power  of  sight;  that  I  may  see 
The  tinted  glories  of  thy  skies, 
An  earthly  glimpse  of  Paradise: 
The  power  to  hear  the  evening  breeze 
Swelling  in  organ  harmonies: 
The  power  to  feel  the  tender  grasp 
Of  loving  hands  in  friendship's  clasp: 
The  power  to  breathe  the  sweet  perfume 
Of  dainty  tea  rose  in  its  bloom: 
To  taste  the  fruit,  which  Thou  didst  bless, 
Like  manna  in  the  Wilderness. 
I  thank  Thee  for  these  gifts  to  me, 


14  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


But  one  thing  more  I  ask  of  Thee: 
From  out  thy  bounteous,  gracious  hand, 
Give  me  the  power  to  understand, 
To  understand  —  to  sympathize  — 
To  note  the  pain  in  others'  eyes ; 
To  have  the  power  to  rightly  read 
The  kindly  motive  of  each  deed. 
And  this  I  humbly  ask  of  Thee, 
Because  I  know  Thou  lovest  me. 


THE  DREAM 


WHILE  on  my  pillow  Care  did  brood, 
I,  friendless,  laid  me  down  and  dreamed 
That  where  the  pale  cold  moonlight  streamed 
A  spirit  in  my  chamber  stood. 

Her  face  was  pure,  divine  and  mild, 
With  that  sweet  look,  surpassing  fair, 
Such  as  all  true  born  mothers  wear 
When  gazing  at  a  well-loved  child. 


She  glided  by  and  from  my  shelf 
Took  down  my  little  book  of  rhyme 
Wherein  I  tried  from  time  to  time 
To  bring  to  life  my  hidden  self. 


And  at  her  touch  it  seemed  to  me, 

The  thoughts  that  my  poor  words  concealed, 

Sprang  into  life,  and  stood  revealed 

As  I  had  meant  that  they  should  be. 


16  LIFE  AT   THE   LEES 


She  closed  the  book.     In  ecstasy 
I  felt  her  eyes  upon  me  turn ; 
And  for  her  touch  my  heart  did  yearn ; 
The  spirit's  name  was  Sympathy. 


I  woke.  Dull  care  was  still  with  me. 
"Go  search"  he  said,  "in  other  lands, 
And  find  the  heart  that  understands, 
And  there  you'll  find  sweet  Sympathy." 


CONSOLATION 


WHEN  the  heart  was  young  and  the 
eyes  were  bright, 

She  gazed  at  the  starry  dome  of  night 
And  said,  "This  world  is  a  beautiful  place 
And  God  is  the  King  of  a  noble  race, 
And  I  know  some  day  I  shall  see  His  face," 
For  the  heart  was  young,  and  the  eyes  were 
bright. 


When  the  heart  was  young,  and  the  blood 

was  red, 

The  tempter  came  and  softly  said: 
"Oh!  come  with  me,    where    the  gay  lights 

swing, 
There  are  none  of  us  born,  but  must  have  our 

fling," 

And  youth  at  its  best  is  a  fleeting  thing, 
When  the  heart  is  young,  and  the  blood  is  red. 


18  LIFE   AT  THE   LEES 


When  the  heart  was  young,  and  the  blood 

ran  fast, 

The  throb  of  the  city  lured  at  last, 
Where  they  sin  by  night,  and  they  sin  by  day, 
And  the  golden  idols  turn  to  clay, 
And  a  battered  soul  is  the  price  they  pay, 
When  the  heart  is  young,  and  the  blood  runs 

fast. 


And  the  heart  was  scarred,  and  the  eyes  were 

dim, 

And  soul  and  body  grew  sick  with  sin, 
And  her  eyes  were  scorched  with  the  bitter 

tears 

She  shed  for  the  sinful  waste  of  years, 
And  the  hopes  ran  low,  through  doubts  and 

fears, 
When  the  heart  was  scarred,  and  the  eyes 

were  dim. 


And  the  heart  grew  cold,  and  the  way  seemed 

drear, 

When  there  came  a  voice  to  her  listening  ear: 
"Although  my  mandates  you  have  denied, 
''Twas  for  such  as  you  that  I  lived  and  died, 
'Twas  for  such  as  you  I  was  crucified 
When  hearts  were  cold,  and  the  way  seemed 

drear." 


CONSOLATION  19 


And  the  heart  was  calmed,  and  the  way  grew 

fair 

And  she  breathed  a  humble  penitent  prayer, 
And  back  from  their  sinful  sleeping  spell 
Came  the  same  ideals  in  her  heart  to  dwell 
That  had  drawn  her  back  from  the  mouth  of 

hell, 
And  the  heart  was  calm  and  the  way  grew  fair. 


And  the  heart  grew  young,  and  the  eyes  grew 

bright, 

When  again  she  gazed  at  the  dome  of  night, 
And  said,  "Oh  world!  I  have  known  disgrace, 
Still  up  beyond  I  may  find  a  place, 
For  the  penitent  thief  saw  the  Master's  face:" 
And  the  heart  was  young  and  the  eyes  were 

bright. 


20  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


THE  CONTRAST 


Then  — 


THE  God  of  a  Christian  people 
Looked  down  on  a  Christian  land, 
And  saw  in  a  prison  court-yard 
A  cowering  woman  stand. 
The  whip,  from  the  hand  of  the  jailer, 
Fell  with  a  sickening  thud 
Across  the  back  of  the  victim, 
Dyed  red  with  her  crimson  blood. 


And  the  Watcher's  heart  was  troubled, 
His  eyes  o'ershadowed  with  pain, 
And  he  murmured  "Oh  my  Father, 
Have  I  suffered  for  such  in  vain?" 
Then  he  bade  his  garden  angel 
Pluck  souls,  just  ready  for  birth, 
And  filling  them  with  his  pity, 
Sent  them  down  here  to  the  earth. 


THE  CONTRAST  21 


Now  — 

.* 

The  God  of  a  Christian  people 
Looked  down  on  a  Christian  land, 
And  there  in  a  fair  green  country 
Saw  another  Prison  stand. 
'Twas  ruled  by  the  hand  of  mercy, 
And  soothed  was  the  heart's  unrest, 
And  body  and  soul  were  cared  for 
While  search  was  made  for  the  best. 


They  breathed  the  air  of  the  heavens, 
They  worshipped,  they  worked,  they  played, 
And  hands  were  eager  to  guide  them, 
Lest  from  Christ's  pathway  they  strayed. 
And  the  Watcher's  heart  grew  joyful, 
Sweet  peace  illumined  his  face, 
For  souls  he  had  plucked  in  Heaven 
Had  each  found  its  rightful  place. 


And  oft  on  a  summer's  evening 
Praises  are  flung  to  the  breeze, 
Sung  by  His  wayward  children, 
Under  the  mulberry  trees. 


22  LIFE   AT   THE   LEES 


THE  DEVIL'S  OWN  TIME 


was  laughter  gay,  as  they  rode 
away 

From  the  place  wrhere  they  wined  and  dined ; 
And  the  car  held  four,  but  there  rode  one  more 
For  the  devil  was  perched  behind. 
And  the  road  they  took  had  an  eerie  look 
As  it  wound  by  the  cliff's  tall  height, 
And  below  like  ink,  curled  the  river's  brink 
Like  a  wriggling  snake  in  the  night. 


And  one  was  a  girl,  whom  the  city's  whirl 

Had  changed  to  a  woman  so  bold, 

And  one  bore  the  trace  of  a  lovely  face, 

And  a  heart  with  the  greed  of  gold. 

And  the  men  were  two  of  the  men  who  view 

Every  woman  with  vulture's  eyes; 

They  were  men  of  ease,  and  in  such  as  these 

Finds  the  devil  his  best  disguise. 


THE    DEVIL'S   OWN   TIME  23 

And  the  moon -shone  cold  on  a  flask  of  gold, 

As  they  passed  it  from  hand  to  hand; 

And  they  took  warm  sips  from  each  other's  lips, 

When  the  wine  their  passion  had  fanned. 

They  sang  a  song,  but  the  words  went  wrong, 

So  they  sang  of  the  skies  above, 

And  they  sang  of  the  charms  of  a  lover's  arms, 

And  they  sang  of  their  wanton  love. 

And  it  seemed  a  joke    when  the  skid-chain 

broke, 

And  the  car  did  a  drunken  reel ; 
And  they  laughed  with  glee  for  they  could  not 

see 

The  devil  was  guiding  the  wheel. 
Then  out  in  the  night  rang  a  cry  of  fright, 
And  the  car  like  a  thing  possessed 
Leaped  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff's  high  ledge 
And  sank  in  the  black  river's  breast. 

And  the   moonlight  flashed,  and  the  water 

dashed 

Its  spray  'gainst  the  cliff's  grey  stone, 
And  down  with  the  dead,  in  the  river's  bed, 
The  devil  was  counting  his  own. 
And  a  farmer's  lad,  (folks  say  he  was  mad) 
Who  passed  in  the  early  morn, 
Heard  the  weirdest  noise,  where  the  curlews 

poise, 
'Twas  the  devil  tooting  the  horn. 


24  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 

(To ,  on  her  Birthday.) 

THE  WORD  FOR  THE  DEED 

DEAR  lady,  on  thy  natal  day, 
Amid  your  gifts  so  grand  and  gay, 
Pray  listen  to  this  roundelay 
From  me,  a  sad  bad  poet. 

I  would  that  I  could  dedicate 

To  you,  a  poem,  oh  so  great, 

That  Shakespeare  would  seem  second  rate; 

And  all  the  world  should  know  it. 

But  woe  is  me!     My  Muse  has  flown 
And  left  me,  poemless,  alone. 
She  went  to  regions  quite  unknown, 
As  fast  as  she  could  go  it. 

Nor  can  I  buy  you  candy  sweet, 
Nor  purchase  a  swell  opera  seat, 
I  cannot  buy  you  fruit  to  eat, 
And  I  am  sadly  harassed. 

I  cannot  buy  sweet  flowers  of  spring 
I  cannot  buy  a  blessed  thing! 
I  am,  like  all  the  bards  who  sing, 
Financially  embarrassed! 


POSTPONED 

(With  apologies  to  G.  K.  Chesterton.) 

I   PLANNED  from  off  my  window  ledge 
To  leap  to  death,  and  be  no  more ; 
But  it  has  just  occurred  to  me 
That  I  live  on  the  cold  first  floor. 
Postponed  must  be  my  suicide, 
And  I  must  seek  another  way ; 
Then,  too,  there  is  a  show  tonight! 
I  shall  not  kill  myself  today. 


I  hear  the  story  that  for  months 

I've  followed  in  a  magazine, 

In  the  next  number  quickly  ends, 

To  miss  it  would  be  quite  too  mean. 

They  say  some  day, —  in  fact  next  week, 

Our  board  will  festive  be  and  gay : 

The  sun  feels  good  —  I've  changed  my  mind; 

I  shall  not  kill  myself  today. 


26  LIFE   AT   THE   LEES 


ROMANCE  AND  REALITY 

DAPHNE,  let  us  hand  in  hand, 
Visit  that  enchanted  land 
Where  the  Nile  in  grandeur  flows, 
Where  the  stately  palm  tree  grows; 
Where  the  maids  of  old  Japan 
Flirt  behind  a  painted  fan; 
Where  Niagara  throws  her  veil 
Diamond  decked,  the  sun  to  hail; 
Where  they  dance,  'mid  merry  scenes, 
To  the  sound  of  tambourines ; 

Daphne,  let  us—      Rhymes  are  tame.1 

What  say  to  the  movies,  Mame? 


CONSCIENCE 


WHEN   the   owlet   hoots,  and  the  black 
night  creeps, 
And  the  great  house,  wrapped  in  its  shadow, 

sleeps; 

When  the  bell  tolls  two  in  a  muffled  chime, 
As  it  counts  the  steps  of  the  flight  of  Time, 
The  rich  man  wakes,  and  he  seems  to  feel 
An  icy  breath,  through  his  chamber  steal, 
And  sees,  in  the  depths  of  his  easy  chair, 
His  nightly  visitor  seated  there. 


The  head's  proud  poise,  and  the  turn  of  the 

arm, 

And  the  look  in  the  face  that  bodes  him  harm, 
As  familiar  seem,  in  the  shadows  dim, 
As  his  mirrored  face,  when  it  smiles  at  him. 
But  his  brain  is  numbed,  'neath  the  night's 

dark  spell, 
And  the  phantom's  name  he  cannot  tell. 


28  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 

Yet  it  casts  on  him  an  unearthly  stare, 

As  it  calmly  lolls  in  his  easy  chair, 

Till  the  rich  man's  brow  is  wet  with  dew, 

And  he  hoarsely  whispers,  "Who  are  you?" 

Then   the   phantom   laughs,    "What,   awake 

at  last? 

I  have  been  with  you  for  an  hour  past, 
If  you  look  again,  you  will  plainly  see 
That  I  am  the  one  that  you  used  to  be. 

"I  know  in  your  heart  that  you  thought  me 

dead: 

But  I  walk  with  you,  quite  unseen,  instead: 
And  I  watch  you  read,  where  the  poet  sings, 
How  a  man  can  step  to  the  highest  things: 
And  you  seem  to  think  you  can  do  the  same, 
So  you  lead  a  life,  that  is  dull  and  tame; 
But  I  think,   my  friend,   'tis  a  wild  sweet 

dream, 

For  you  left  me  out  of  your  little  scheme. 
So  lest  you  forget,  and  should  count  me  dead, 
I  shall  come  each  night  to  your  lonely  bed, 
When  the  owlet  hoots,  and  the  clock  strikes 

two, 
And  tell  you  the  things  that  you  used  to  do. 

"How  your  love  for  gold  made  you  mean  as 

dirt, 
How  you  never  cared  for  another's  hurt, 


CONSCIENCE  29 

How  you  ploughed  your  way,  just  to  "gain 

your  ends, 
O'er    the    bleeding    hearts    of    your    dearest 

friends, 

How  you  told  a  maid  you  would  love  for  aye. 
Then  you  cast  her  off,  when  you  had  your  way : 
And  lest  cold  remorse  in  your  soul  should  sink, 
You  rilled  your  veins  with  the  demon  Drink! 
You  robbed  the  needy,  you  cursed  the  poor, 
And  you  drove  the  hungry  from  out  your  door. 
And  these  are  the  things,  I  shall  tell  to  you, 
When  the  black  night  creeps,  and  the  clock 

strikes  two. 


"I  shall  come  at  night  and  shall  have  my  way, 
For  I  am  a  part  of  the  price  you  pay: 
You  will  toss  and  turn,  you  will  sigh  and  groan, 
And  send   up  prayers   to   the   Great   White 

Throne; 

And  blush  in  the  dark,  though  none  can  see, 
When  you  think  of  the  thing  that  you  used 

to  be." 


When  the  owlet  hoots,  and  the  black  night 

creeps 
And  the  great  house,  wrapped  in  its  shadow, 

sleeps, 

The  rich  man  wakes  at  the  hour  of  two, 
To  hear  of  the  things  that  he  used  to  do. 


30  LIFE  AT   THE   LEES 


TO  YOU,  PIERETTE 

T7AREWELL,  Pierette, 
-T   The  fleeting  hours 
I  spent  with  you, 
Are  faded  flowers. 
No  more  you  dance 
To  lilting  lay 
Of  silver  pipes 
Till  break  of  day. 
You  leave  the  throng, 
I  linger  yet, 
Neath  ash  of  death 
I  smile,  Pierette! 
Across  the  stretch 
Of  Memory's  lands, 
My  eyes  seek  yours, 
And  hands  seek  hands. 
I  smile,  because 
I  must  not  weep. 
I  wear  the  mask, 
I  sow,  I  reap. 

On  with  the  dance! 
I  would  forget 
I  am  Pierot, 
You  were  Pierette. 


M 


TO  MY  FRIEND 


I 


Y  soul  was  sick  with  bitter  strife, 
I  hated  man  and  hated  life. 


I  feared  to  think  of  coming  years, 

The  world  was  gray  through  mists  of  tears. 

I  cried  aloud,  I  was  bereft; 
I  knew  that  only  God  was  left. 

I  cried  to  Him,  "Oh  succour  me!" 
And  then,  dear  friend,  He  sent  me  thee. 


II 


I  crept  to  my  room,  and  I  closed  my  door, 
And  I  fell  on  my  knees  by  the  narrow  bed, 
And  I  lifted  my  face  to  God  and  said, 
"You  have  sent  me  a  friend,  I  can  ask  no 


32  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


(Written  to  another  prisoner  on  her  birthday?) 


YOU  AND  I 

WE  have  met,  you  and  I, 
Like  stray  birds  in  the  night, 
Whose  wings  gently  touch 
In  their  wind-driven  flight. 
So  together  we  drift 
Till  the  morning's  first  rays 
Show  to  each  her  own  path, 
And  the  parting  of  ways. 


We  must  part,  you  and  I, 
When  our  course  is  made  clear. 
Though  the  time  has  been  brief, 
The  companionship  dear. 
Though  new  voices  I  hear 
And  new  faces  I  see, 
They  shall  never  erase 
Fond  remembrance  of  thee. 


YOU  AND   I  33 


Shall  we  meet,  you  and  I, 
Ere  our  life's  sands  are  run? 
We  must  leave  that  to  Him, 
The  Omnipotent  One. 
All  I  ask,  all  I  pray, 
In  the  darkness  of  night, 
He  will  guide  you  and  me 
In  the  path  that  is  right. 


34  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


APRIL  WEATHER 

I  SAID,  in  the  night,  I  shall  smile  no  more, 
For  my  grief  seemed  deep,  and  my  heart 
was  sore; 

But  I  woke  when  the  sun  caressed  my  lips, 
And  I  tingled  down  to  my  finger  tips. 
So  I  sang,  instead,  a  lilting  lay 
To  an  April  sky  on  an  April  day. 


THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 

HOW   fast   the   years   swing  round,  my 
friend, 

How  fast  the  years  swing  round! 
Accomplished  hopes  and  conquered  fears, 
Unkept  resolves  and  bitter  tears, 
Are  blazed  along  the  trail  of  years ; 
How  fast  the  years  swing  round! 

How  brief  from  birth  to  death,  my  friend, 

How  brief  from  birth  to  death! 

Like    some    strange    dream,    now   sad,    now 

sweet, 

Wherein  the  bad  and  good  compete, 
We  taste  of  joy,  we  know  defeat ; 
How  brief  from  birth  to  death! 

Oh,  may  your  years  be  sweet,  my  friend, 
Oh,  may  your  years  be  sweet! 
The  trail  you  blaze,  a  marking  place 
Of  victories  won  in  Life's  hard  race, 
And  then  —  at  last  —  the  Savior's  face. 
Oh,  may  your  years  be  sweet! 


36  LIFE   AT  THE   LEES 


LEST  I  FALL 


WHEN  heavy  rests  Thy  hand  on  me, 
When  sorrow  doth  my  brow  en  wreath, 
Oh,  let  me  not  forget,  dear  God, 

Thy  stronger  hand  rests  underneath 


TO  MY  MOTHER 


DAUGHTER  of  men  who  left  the  snug 
harbors, 
To  court   wild  adventure  and  conquer  the 

waves; 
Whose  Bible  and  chart  were  their  sure  guide 

to  heaven, 

Who  smilingly  went  to  their  sea-weed  decked 
graves. 


You  have  your  compass.    The   Bible  your 

chart  is; 
Snug  is  your  harbor;  you  watch  from  the 

shore 

Another  one,  sailing  on  Life's  stormy  ocean, 
Asteep  with  adventure,  athirsty  for  lore. 

Would  that  my  course  could  be  laid  as  you 

wish  it ; 
Would   that   your  harbor  could  bring  both 

content ; 

Mine  is  a  craft  that  was  fashioned  for  waters 
Where  circles  the  whirlpool  on  treachery  bent. 


38  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


Grieve  not,  I  beg  you,  though  still    I   am 

drifting, 
Blame  not  yourself  for  a  strange  craft  like 

mine, 

Drawn  were  the  plans  of  it  back  in  the  ages, 
Yet  all  of  the  good,  dear,  within  it  is  thine. 


ON  PAROLE 


As  I  leap  forth 

Into  a  strange,  kind  world,  a  moment  halt 
My  footsteps;  and  the  chance  which  makes  my  worth 
I  weigh  with  that  mischance  they  call  my  fault. 

HARD  LABOR. 


SPRING  IN  THE  CITY 


OH!  Spring  in  the  city!  It  sets  my  heart 
beating ! 

It  goes  to  my  head  like  the  tang  of  the  sea! 
When  down  the  wet  pavements,  young  March 

flings  her  greeting, 

With  wild,  whistled  songs  full  of  hoydenish 
glee. 

Oh  blue  is  her  bonnet,  with  plumes  soft  and 

cloudy! 

And  gray  is  her  gown  with  a  silvery  sheen, 
And  through  the  long  rent,  where  she  tore  it, 

the  rowdy, 
Peeps  out  her  bright  petticoat,  emerald  green. 


She  skips  through  the  Common,  the  winds 

follow  after, 

Now  coaxing,  beguiling,  wherever  she  goes : 
And  up  to  the  bishop  she  dances  with  laughter, 
And  knocks  his  staid  head-gear  atilt  on   his 

nose. 


42  LIFE  AT   THE  LEES 


Her  cry-baby  sister  has  loaned  her  the  flowers 
That  drop  from  her  gown  in  her  wild,  merry 

race; 
The    violet    and    crocus,    from    April's    own 

bowers, 
She  saucily  tosses  in  mother  Earth's  face. 

Oh!  Spring   in    the   city!  It    sets   my   heart 

beating! 

It  goes  to  my  head  like  a  draught  of  old  wine : 
Stay,  March,  I  implore  you!  Oh,  be  not  so 

fleeting, 
For,    witch   that   you   are,   you   are   wholly 

divine! 


THE  TWO  LOVES 

"VTIGHT  dew  falling  —Night  birds  calling— 
-L  ^"    Mr.  Jack  O'Lantern  Moon  a'hanging  in 

a  tree : 

Breezes  vagrant  —  Odors  fragrant  — 
Come  out,  little  lady  love,  and  meet  the  night 

with  me. 

Violets  sleeping  —  Sharp  eyes  peeping  — 

Eyes  of  little  living  things  that  love  the  night 
hours  well : 

Birds  are  mating  —  I  am  waiting 

Underneath  your  window,  dear,  my  Spring- 
time love  to  tell. 

Green  buds  blowing  —  Bright  stars  glowing  — 
Do  not  think  me  fickle  when  I  say  that  I 

love  two: 

Life  is  rounded  —  Joy  unbounded  — 
When  'neath  open  skies,  I  greet  sweet  Lady 

Spring  and  you. 


44  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


FORGIVE 

DID'ST  see  me  on  the  yesterday, 
When  meadoward  we  took  our  way, 
Strike  at  the  hand  that  lifted  up 
To  my  parched  lips,  life's  brimming  cup? 
Did'st  see  me  then  I  say? 

And  seeing,  did'st  thou  veil  thine  eyes, 
Filled  with  a  saddened,  pained  surprise  ? 
Or  was  it  planned  that  such  as  I 
Must  know  a  thousand  deaths?    Then  die 
Ere  I  have  grasped  the  prize? 

Did'st  see  me  on  the  yesternight 
When  sickened  soul  was  black  with  blight  ? 
Dread  quivers  of  despairing  shame 
Scorched  my  poor  body  like  a  flame. 
Did'st  see  me  then  —  at  night? 

Upon  my  heart  a  little  ring 
Of  whitened  scars,  that  burn  and  sting, 
Remind  me  that  I  struck  the  hand 
That  led  me  to  a  promised  land. 
How  long  doth  Memory  cling? 


MY  SONG 

I  CANNOT  help  but  sing,  I  said, 
For  joy  hath  lately  found  me! 
When  friendly  stars  shine  overhead, 
I  cannot  help  but  sing,  I  said: 
Would 'st  have  me  weep?    The  past  is  dead, 
And  kindly  friends  surround  me. 
I  cannot  help  but  sing,  I  said, 
For  joy  hath  lately  found  me! 


46  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


IF  SUCH  LOVE  CAME 

IF  Love  should  come  to  me  some  day, 
And  I  should  sadly  to  him  say, 
Before  he  pressed  his  first  warm  kiss, 
I  have  done  this,  and  this,  and  this, 
Confessing  sins  of  human  clay; 
And  he  should  coldly  turn  away: — 
I  would  not  sigh,  nor  weep,  nor  moan, 
Nor  worship  Grief  on  purple  throne; 
But  rather  would  I  softly  say, 
If  Love  should  come  to  me,  some  day,  — 
"  'Tis  better  so.     Adieu,  —  we  part ! 
This  thing  you  nurtured  in  your  heart 
Was  never  Love;  for  Love  forgives, 
And  understands,  forbears,  and  lives  I" 
And  gladly  would  I  go  my  way, 
If  such  Love  came  to  me  some  day. 


LOVE'S  TOKEN 

I  BURIED  Love,  and  softly  laid 
My  hopes  away,  'neath  sylvan  shade, 
For  I  was  sore  beset. 

I  watered  it  with  bitter  tears 

That  flowed  from  thoughts  of  other  years 

That  I  would  fain  forget. 

But  when  there  dawned  another  day, 
From  where  my  Love  neglected  lay, 
There  sprang  a  violet. 


48  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


WHY? 

SWEPT  in  by  the  tide,  and  cast  on  Life's 
bosom, 

Unwanted,  uncalled  for,  an  atom  of  chance; 
Groping  and  cursed  by  the  sins  of  another, 
Hopelessly  watching  the  grey  years  advance. 

Swept  on  by  the  tide,  in  its  merciless  surging, 
Battered  and  lashed  by  black  Poverty's  wave 
A  plaything  of  Fate,  by  Fate  ill-begotten, 
Wind  driven  derelict,  marked  for  the  grave. 

Swept  out  by  the  tide  to  the  land  of  surmises; 
Questions   unanswered,    naught    learned   but 

aery; 

Crushed  by  the  strife  of  an  unsought  existence; 
Back  to  the  Nowhere,  murmuring  "Why?" 


FREEDOM 


Free,  I  said,  free! 
And  fate  comes  behind  and  scourges  me. 

HARD  LABOR. 


EXTRACTS 
FROM    LETTERS 


I  went  to  the  new  situation  last  night  at 

the Besides  the  work  of  cashier, 

I  am  to  do  all  the  bookkeeping,  keep  the 
registry,  attend  to  sixty-five  mail  boxes,  do 
the  post  office  business,  and  take  care  of  three 
public  telephones.  Although  the  work  was 
intricate,  I  handled  it  all  right.  I  was  told 
that  there  was  no  time  allowed  for  dinner 
during  the  eight  hours'  work,  but  that  in  place 
of  dinner  the  boy  would  give  me  an  egg  drink 
from  the  soda  fountain.  I  am  to  work  also 
on  Sundays  and  holidays — without  extra  pay 
of  course.  I  don't  mind  the  hard  work,  but, 
frankly,  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole  place 
was  not  at  all  to  my  liking.  By  the  time  I 
had  my  cash  balanced  it  was  nearly  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  The  proprietor's  father,  a 
dissolute -looking  old  man,  with  baggy  eyes, 
and  who  looked  like  pictures  of  General 
Butler,  winked  at  me  every  time  his  son's 
back  was  turned,  and  even  gave  my  arm  a 
very  fatherly  pressure  when  he  let  me  out  of 
the  side  door  after  work.  Pleasant,  wasn't  it? 

I  have  to  use  my  own  instincts  about  these 


52  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 

places,  I  suppose;  but  don't  for  a  moment 
think  that  I  am  afraid  of  the  hard  work  when 
I  say  that  I  would  rather  not  stay  here.  Do 
you  think  that  I  am  rash,  and  am  throwing 
away  a  possible  chance?  You  know  I  think  a 
good  deal  of  your  opinion  on  the  subject. 


When  I  think  sometimes  that  my  identity 
may  be  discovered,  I  turn  sick  with  fear.  It 

is  a  dreadful  secret  to  carry  around.  R , 

whom  I  knew  five  years  ago,  wonders  at  the 
improvement  in  me,  in  speech  as  wrell  as  looks, 
and  is  so  interested  in  my  verses  that  I  am 
immensely  flattered.  Anyhow,  thanks  to 
you,  I  find  myself  picking  much  wiser  asso- 
ciates, and  I  think  they  will  be  my  salvation. 
I  am  still  out  of  work,  but  I  am  helping  out 
in  a  lunch  room  from  eleven  to  half  past  three, 
which  keeps  the  proverbial  wolf  from  coming 
to  life.  This  is  only  temporary,  but  I  think 
I  am  lucky,  for  it  means  one  square  meal  a 
day  at  least. 

Oh,  such  a  crowded,  lonesome  city!  It  is 
a  very  dangerous  thing  to  be  unemployed 
where  there  are  lights  and  laughter  and  music, 
and  one  is  alone.  It  has  given  me  a  good 
idea  for  a  magazine  story,  but  it  is  so  hot  in 
mv  "two  by  four"  that  I  can't  write.  I  will 


EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTERS     53 


get  along  somehow,  and  if  looking  will  bring 
me  work,  I  shall  get  it  surely. 

I  am  reading  Science  and  Health,  and  find 
the  principle  very  fine.  One  must  believe 
in  the  principle,  and  not  in  the  personality 
of  anyone  connected  with  it.  Were  it  not 
so,  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  is 
really  helping  me. 

I  read  in  the  paper  that has  been 

arrested  for  shop-lifting.  That  poor,  foolish 
girl!  Only  twenty-one  years  old,  to  ruin  her- 
self again  for  the  sake  of  pretty  clothes!  I 
love  pretty  clothes,  too,  and  hate  to  look  as  if 
I  came  out  of  the  ark,  as  badly  as  anyone  I 
know  of;  and  I  know  it  must  have  been  a 
great  temptation.  But,  oh,  what  a  price  she 
paid  for  them! 


I  am  very  joyous  this  evening.     I  have  had 

a  great  treat  in  the  form  of  a  letter  from 

Her    letter    is    always    like    a 

little  white  posy  to  me.  For  the  last  three 
years  I  have  saved  them  very  carefully,  until 
now  I  have  a  beautiful  boquet.  Her  kindness 
in  writing  to  me  is  one  of  the  bright  spots  in 
this  navy  blue  life.  It  makes  me  think  of  a 
day  when  I  had  been  in  prison  only  a  few 
weeks,  and  I  was  down  on  my  knees  scrubbing 


54  LIFE  AT  THE  LEES 


my  part  of  a  long  hall.  I  had  been  locked 
for  some  time  in  a  cell  with  a  dark  window, 
and  so  any  occupation  was  welcome.  We 
were  not  allowed  to  look  up  at  any  one  who 
passed  through  the  hall,  and  an  officer  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  corridor  watching  us.  My 
back  was  aching,  my  wrists  were  sore,  my 
knees  throbbed  from  the  unaccustomed  posi- 
tion, and  I  was  so  filled  with  rage  at  my  humili- 
ation that  I  longed  to  knock  the  bucket  of 
dirty  water  over,  and  then  roll  in  it  and  scream 
and  yell  for  sheer  relief,  —  when  some  one 
tapped  me  on  the  shoulder.  I  looked  up  with 
fear,  for  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  repri- 
manded, but  instead  a  woman  bent  over  me 
and  handed  me  one  small  flower ;  and  when  she 
smiled  I  could  have  kissed  her  feet,  and  I  felt 
all  the  anger  die  away,  and  my  throat  ached, 
it  was  so  full.  It  was  as  if  I  had  stepped  into 
a  sanctuary,  but  could  not  pray.  That  woman 

was and  I  worshipped  her  from 

that  moment.  When  they  locked  me  in 
again,  I  took  the  flower  from  my  dress,  and 
forgot  where  I  was;  the  flood  gates  were 
loosed,  and  I  was  given  —  one  of  the  few 
things  they  can't  take  away  from  us,  —  sleep! 
That  is  the  curious  part  of  it.  We  suffer  all 
the  untold  agonies  of  mind,  and  then  we  sleep, 
and  sometimes  dream  of  daisy  fields.  But 
now  the  situation  is  reversed.  I  sleep  and 


EXTRACTS  FROM   LETTERS  55 


dream  that  I  am  back  again,  and  trying  to  get 
out.  I  wake  myself  up  trying  to  scream,  and 
in  those  few  moments  I  live  all  over  again  the 
past  horror  and  hopelessness.  The  very  sight 
of  a  cot  bed  turns  me  sick,  —  its  shape  and 
width  suggest  so  much. 

I  believe  I  said  I  was  joyous.  This  does  not 
sound  much  like  it.  Still  I  am. 

Am  so  glad  to  have  Henley's  book  to 
browse  over  at  odd  moments. 


Thanks  for  the  little  Brownie  photograph. 
To  think  that  I  have  been  acquainted  with 
myself  so  long,  and  didn't  really  know  until 
now  just  how  I  looked!  I  shall  take  your 
advice  and  send  it  to  my  mother.  If  any- 
thing serious  happens,  please  take  the  blame. 
You  must  not  pay  any  attention  to  what  I  say 
in  this  letter,  for  I  have  soared  so  high  today, 
that  I  have  ridden  on  the  tip  end  of  a  cloud; 
and  such  a  sunset!  A  blood  red  sun  in  an 
opal  sky,  and  all  reflected  in  a  still  river  of 
molten  silver.  No  artist  could  ever  paint  it. 
What  an  artist  God  must  be!  No  two  sunsets 
alike,  infinite  variety,  each  succeeding  night 
more  beautiful  than  the  last!  I  love  it,  and 
revel  in  it,  but  find  words  too  common  and 
gross  to  express  the  beauty  of  it  all. 


56  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


I  am  glad  that  you  are  satisfied  with  my 
work.  I  have  never  spoken  of  being  tired  of 
late.  I  am  hardening  up,  and  then  the  work  is 
divided  more  evenly.  I  want  to  do  the  best 
I  can  here,  and  I  think  you  believe  me.  They 
seem  to  understand  me  better,  and  we  are  on 
a  much  more  pleasant  footing.  I  am  now 
more  my  natural  self  with  them,  and  they 
laugh  with  me,  and  not  at  me,  which  is,  of 
course,  very  nice  of  them. 

Now  about  your  letters.  They  give  me  a 
great  brace;  they  help  me  every  time.  It  is 
a  very  wonderful  thing  to  understand.  What 

you  said  of  Mr was  perfectly  right; 

a  good,  helpful  comrade  is  what  he  has  always 
been,  clear  sighted,  clean  minded,  and  a  fine 
man  all  round.  I  am  proud  to  call  him  a 
friend. 

What  you  say  in  reference  to  my  mother  I 
know  to  be  perfectly  true.  I  thank  you  for 
putting  it  so  plainly,  for  I  needed  to  hear  it 
in  just  such  words.  I  am  glad,  too,  that  you 
like  my  verses;  but  if  you  didn't  know  the 
circumstances,  would  you  still  like  themt  I 
know  they  are  not  wonderful,  by  any  means. 
If  I  thought  I  should  some  day  actually  see 
them  in  print,  in  a  little  house  all  their  own, 
I  would  stretch  up  on  my  intellectual  tiptoes 
until  I  did  something  worth  while.  When 
you  find  me  faulty  in  my  grammar,  I  wish 


EXTRACTS   FROM   LETTERS  57 


you  would  speak  of  it.  Don't  let  me  cut  my 
verbs,  like  "I'm  going",  or  "I'd  rather". 
I  try  very  hard  about  that. 

I  am  somewhat  low-spirited  tonight.  I 
wish  I  had  a  home  of  my  own  to  go  to,  so  that 
I  would  not  have  to  give  you  all  this  bother. 

This  is  written  Sunday  evening  upon  my 

return  from where  I  was  a  guest 

at  a  Biblical  play  given  in  the  woods;  beautiful 
indeed,  but  given  literally.  It  was  very  won- 
derful to  see  the  children  and  young  people  so 
entirely  free  from  self-consciousness. 

*     *     *     * 

At  last  I  have  found  a  place.  I  am  to  start 
work  this  afternoon  at  2.30,  and  work  until  10 
o'clock  tonight  at  the  munitions  factory.  This 
is  the  place  I  spoke  of  to  you,  and  although 
it  is  a  dump,  it  will  help  a  great  deal  at  the 
present  time.  I  cannot  sit  down  like  Mr. 
Micawber,  and  wait  for  something  to  turn  up. 
I  only  hope  that  I  may  be  able  to  stand  it. 
It  is  horribly  dirty,  I  am  told,  but  the  money 
is  clean.  It  is  a  place  of  nations,  for  all  sorts 
of  foreigners  are  working  there.  It  is  like 
having  one's  soul  hit  with  a  knout  to  have  to 
go  to  such  a  dreary  place,  away  from  the 
sunshine,  but  we  cannot  have  all  we  like  in 
this  life,  and  I  doubt  if  it  would  be  good  for 
us  if  we  did. 


58  LIFE  AT   THE   LEES 


I  took  lunch  Friday  with and  we 

talked  over  some  sketches.  I  am  very  keen 
about  them,  and  shall  go  ahead,  for  I  have 
my  mornings  free,  and  am  on  my  first  one. 
I  am  inclined  to  write  it  story  style,  which  I 
wish  I  could  change.  It  does  not  seem  true 
enough,  written  that  way. 

Well,  I'm  off  to  help  blow  up  the  Germans  — 
if  I  don't  get  blown  up  myself  first.  Are  you 
still  of  the  same  mind  about  the  poems?  I 
hope  so —  oh,  so  much! 

I  wish  I  could  thank  you  in  the  way  I  wish. 

*     *     *     * 

Here  I  am  again.  This  time  I  simply  had 
to  write  to  you  to  tell  you  wrhat  I  am  up  against. 
Before  I  went  to  the  new  job,  which  is  making 
shells  for  the  British  Government,  I  heard 
reports  that  the  plant  was  threatened,  and 
that  it  was  to  be  demolished  sometime  this 
week.  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  which 
was  the  worse;  being  blown  up  by  dynamite, 
or  being  blown  up  by  an  irate  landlady! 

But  I  went  in  at  half  past  two.  Ye  gods! 
What  a  place!  No  brains  are  necessary,  just 
brawn.  We  work  seven  and  a  half  hours, 
with  fifteen  minutes  for  lunch!  .  .  .  Every 
moment,  at  some  unexpected  noise,  the  girls 
will  scream,  and  all  lights  outside  are  kept 


EXTRACTS  FROM   LETTERS  59 


burning,  and  an  extra  force  of  guards  patrols 
the  building.  The  war  never  seemed  so  real. 
It  is  like  working  on  the  top  of  a  rumbling 
volcano. 

The  accommodations  for  the  women  are 
indescribable,  and  this  in  cultured  Massa- 
chusetts. The  firm  holds  back  three  days 
from  my  pay,  which  is  another  bad  feature. 
The  only  good  feature  about  the  whole  affair, 
is  that  if  I  do  get  blown  up,  my  remains  will 
be  so  scattered  that  my  loving  family  will  be 
spared  the  expense  of  my  burial. 

Our  clothes  are  intermingled  in  an  unkempt 
mass  and  the  odors  are  something  weird. 
However,  one  must  live,  and  as  long  as  there 
are  no  other  places  for  girls,  some  one  is  ever 
ready  to  take  the  risk,  like 

Yours  sincerely, 


.  .  .  I  shall  be  all  right  after  pay  day 
next  Wednesday,  I  think,  and  can  struggle 
along  till  then. 

My  new  room  is  a  thing  of  beauty,  and  let 
us  hope  it  will  be  a  joy  forever.  I  know  that 
I  shall  appreciate  it  more  with  a  full  stomach. 
Science  has  yet  to  discover  how  one  can  live 
on  sixty- two  cents  for  a  week,  and  still  be 
optimistic  and  retain  their  sense  of  humor. 


60  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


Some  day  I  shall  look  back  on  this  experience 
as  a  huge  joke,  but  at  the  present  time  there 
is  nothing  humorous  about  it. 

We  were  told  in  the  shop  last  night  that  we 
could  go  home  at  eight  o'clock,  as  there  was 
no  work.  But  I  stayed  and  wore  the  varnish 
off  the  firm's  chair,  for  thirty- two  cents  is 
not  to  be  sneezed  at.  I'm  off  now  for  a 
good  square  meal. 

The  girl  next  to  me,  who  is  quite  a  character, 
tells  me  that  the  reason  she  has  no  "steady", 
is  because  the  one  she  would  have  won't  have 
her,  and  the  one  that  would  have  her  the 
devil  wouldn't  have.  Concise,  isn't  it? 


.  .  .  The  munition  work  goes  merrily 
on,  and  each  night  I  discover  some  new  noise 
to  add  to  the  torture.  All  the  sins  I  ever 
committed  really  should  be  washed  from  the 
slate,  for  this  work  is  penance.  When  you 
step  into  that  filthy  place,  reeking  of  lard 
oil,  and  the  bell  rings  that  starts  that  long 
line  all  wrorking  together  like  a  machine,  I 
feel  like  hammering  on  the  closed  door,  and 
getting  out  somehow;  but  then  the  hot  wave 
of  anger  gradually  dies  when  you  wonder 
how  long  it  would  be  before  you  found  another 
place,  and  you  feel  rather  ashamed  that  you 


EXTRACTS   FROM   LETTERS  61 


have  rebelled  even  inwardly  at  conditions  that 
seem  to  your  co-workers  perfectly  satisfactory. 

Ah,  the  man  that  wrote  " Where  ignorance 
is  bliss"  knew  human  nature,  didn't  he? 
The  girl  next  to  me  had  half  a  chicken  for  her 
lunch  yesterday,  and  she  confided  in  me,  say- 
ing that  "the  guy-she-was-keeping-company- 

with  knew  the  chef  at  the Hotel,  who 

swiped  half  a  broiled  chicken  for  him  every 
once  in  a  while,  and  her  steady  passed  it 
along  to  her."  That  poor  chicken!  What 
travels!  W7here  he  might  have  been  served 
on  a  silver  platter  to  some  fastidious  guest, 
he  is  instead  toted  around  in  the  "steady's" 
pocket,  to  end  ignominiously  as  the  piece  de 
resistance  of  a  cold  lunch  in  a  Munitions 
Factory.  That  chicken  must  have  led  a  very 
sinful  life,  brief  as  it  was,  to  have  to  suffer 
such  a  fate. 

Thanks  be  that  today  is  Friday,  for  I  detest 
night  work,  and  I  am  next  door  to  being 
broke,  which  of  late  seems  to  be  a  chronic 
state  with  me. 

I  figured  up  last  week  and  found  that  I 
spent  more  for  carfares  and  accessories,  than 
I  did  for  what  I  ate.  If  I  tide  over  this 
week  I  think  I  shall  be  all  right.  Next 
Wednesday  I  shall  be  able  to  eat  properly. 

Did  I  thank  you  for  all  your  trouble?  No, 
I  never  do.  It  makes  me  sort  of  ache,  you 


62  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 

are  so  good  to  me.  Why  is  it?  I  have  often 
wanted  to  ask  you,  but  hesitate,  for  fear  it 
might  be  as  I  surmised. 


The employment  bureau  sent  me  to 

store.     Eight  dollars  was  the  sky  limit. 

One  sixth  came  out  each  week  for  the  employ- 
ment people,  which  left  $6.66;  carfares  60  cents, 
and  lunches  60  cents,  room  rent  $3.00,  left  me 
$2.46  to  eat,  dress  and  pay  for  laundry.  I 
backed  down  and  went  to  the  shell  game  in 
the  afternoon.  I  am  afraid  it  is  all  up  with 
me  there,  for  I  was  put  on  fine  work  that  I 
could  hardly  see,  the  light  on  the  brass  was 
so  trying.  .  .  .  Forgive  this  scrawl. 
After  four  weeks  of  factory  work,  my  hand 
is  again  like  a  pig's  foot,  and  I  am  in  an  awful 
mood,  for  I  hate  that  place  so,  and  its  beastly 
hours.  This  business  is  making  a  first-class 
cynic  of  me.  When  the  spirit  moves  you, 
remember, 

Yours  sincerely, 


writes  that  she  hopes  I  will 

some  day  give  up  concealment,  and  let  my 
past  be  known —  "face  it  publicly,"  she  says; 


EXTRACTS  FROM   LETTERS  63 


—  and  she  adds  that  there  is  a  great  buoyancy 
and  strength  which  comes  from  it,  which  kills 
cheap  gossip,  and  strengthens  friendships. 

Very  likely  she  is  right.  But  if  I  was  big 
enough  to  face  my  past,  the  world  isn't  big 
enough  to  face  it,  —  nor  to  give  me  a  future. 
Think  how  long  I  would  last  in  a  place  if 
my  employer  knew.  Even  if  the  head  of  a 
firm  knew,  and  kept  me,  others  would  get 
together  and  see  that  I  was  discharged.  Only 
those  who  have  friends  and  money  behind 
them,  can  afford  to  walk  erect  —  as  I  wish 
I  could  do. 

No  matter  how  short  the  sentence,  your 
time  is  never  done  until  your  name  is  erased 
from  the  book  of  Life.  You  go  through  the 
door  of  the  great  prison,  and  you  say  "I  am 
free."  But  you  lie  to  yourself!  For  in  the 
sight  of  man,  when  he  knows,  you  are  two 
persons,  —  the  person  you  are  today,  and  the 
person  you  were.  It  doesn't  make  any  differ- 
ence how  honest  you  may  be,  —  you  are  not 
to  be  trusted. 

And  so  you  find,  in  time,  that  you  lack  con- 
fidence in  yourself.  And  always  at  your 
elbow  stalks  Fear.  You  even  dream  about  it. 
When  a  prisoner  has  been  told  just  what  to  do 
for  nearly  two  years,  when  every  movement 
has  been  directed  by  an  officer,  she  becomes 
accustomed  to  it,  and  becomes  a  sort  of 


64  LIFE  AT  THE   LEES 


machine,  and  when  she  goes  out  into  the 
world  she  is  left  helpless  in  many  ways.  She 
has  not  been  accustomed  to  take  the  initiative, 
and  it  is  a  great  while  before  she  dares  to  take 
that  liberty  again. 

Then  the  look!  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that 
when  a  person  stops  in  the  middle  of  a  con- 
versation and  looks  at  me  steadily,  or  when  I 
find  a  person  looking  at  me  whom  I  don't 
know,  I  grow  cold?  My  brain  hammers  out, 
"They  know"  and  when  an  unkind  word  is 
said,  or  someone  slights  me,  the  S.  O.  S. 
signals,  "They  know"  If  it  was  not  for  my 
mother,  I  would  stand  up  to  some  of  these 
holier-than-thou  people,  and  say,  "Yes,  it  is 
so"  But  my  mother  is  old,  and  I  can't  rob 
her  of  her  dearest  possession,  Pride. 

How  did  this  all  start?  Oh  yes; 's 

letter.  Well,  you  see  I  am  moody  tonight. 
I  and  myself  are  sick  of  each  other's  company. 
That  wonderful  courage  you  have  spoken  of 
is  gone.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  everything, 
and  what  adds  to  my  grief  is  the  fact  that  the 
woman  downstairs  has  departed,  and  taken 
her  cat  with  her.  And  sometimes  I  felt  sure 
that  that  cat  liked  me. 

I  bore  you?     I  know  it;  I  bore  myself. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  FUSE 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  FUSE 


FASHIONED  was  I  by  the  hands    of    a 
woman; 

Circumstance  willed  it,  she  bore  men  no  ill; 
Shaped  for  my  work  by  a  hand  soft  and  tender; 
'My  work'  you  ask  me? — my  work  is  to  kill. 


I  do  not  wait  till  I  reach  the  far  war  field, 
To  start  my  fell  art  of  the  killing  of  men; 
But  there  in  the  grime  and  the  stench  of  the 

work  shop, 
I  murder  the  souls  of  my  makers,  —  and  then, 


I  fill  them  with  fear  and  unspeakable  horror; 
For  guarded  am  I  as  a  king's  royal  head: 
They  risk  their  lives  through  the  black  nights 

of  terror, 
(One   cannot   choose   when   the  body   needs 

bread.) 


66  L'FE  AT  THE   LEES 

Young  eyes  grow  bold  with  an  unholy  wisdom; 
Soft  lips  learn  curses,  that  once  breathed  a 

prayer : 

"Merry  my  work"?  —  Another  has  fainted! 
Fill  her  place  quickly!  —  In  war,  all  is  fair! 


Do  ye  not  know  that  this  hot  haste  breeds 

wisdom 
That  leads  to  the  devil,  the  street  and  the 

cell? 

Fitting  my  birth  in  such  poisonous  caldron; 
My  work  is  to  kill,  and  I  do  my  work  well ! 


Aye,  give  your  aid  to  the  men  who  in  battle 
Die  from  my  kisses;  but  leave  me  those  still 
Who  in  the  workshop  die  slowly,  but  surely; 
Truly,  my  work  is  to  kill,  —  and  to  kill ! 


Printed  by  the  Geo.  B.  Dodge  Co.,  Boston,  Massachusetts 


359882 


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